


when the clouds growled overhead

by toboldlyhomo



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Blow Jobs, Bottom Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley is Bad at Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley is a cumslut sorry I don't make the rules, Kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rimming, Top Aziraphale (Good Omens), We WORSHIP Aziraphale's body in this house, magic lube fingers, supernatural entities have more stamina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-05-30 23:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19413469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toboldlyhomo/pseuds/toboldlyhomo
Summary: With the apocalypse finally averted, Aziraphale and Crowley are ready for their lives to get back to normal. Better than normal, in fact, without the continuous interruptions of the forces of Heaven and Hell.But peace is not yet on the horizon as rain plummets from the sky, flooding the streets, and inching towards Aziraphale's bookshop. Is it just the weather or is it a message from God above Herself? And what else runs the risk of getting wet in the dark of a fierce storm.Tune in this week on "when the clouds growled overhead" where we endeavour to give you the scoop, because 6000 years of pining has got me f*cked up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I also made a companion playlist on 8tracks which you can listen to [here](https://8tracks.com/trekraider/when-the-clouds-growled-overhead)!

It had been storming for the last week. Not the hazy drizzling of a typical Soho evening, but a torrential downpour the likes of which Aziraphale and Crowley had not seen for several thousand years. The skies swirled with countless shades of grey and the impending threat of destruction as water pooled on the streets before Aziraphale's bookshop. With the rumbling cacophony of each bolt of lightning, the lights would flicker and vases tremble on the low shelves. It had been storming for a week, and it showed no hope of stopping. 

"Do you think--" Azirphale murmured, straightening his bow tie in an effort to stay busy. He turned to the dark figure behind him, bonelessly draped over a divan backed with old books. "Do you think She's angry with us?" 

It had been barely a month since their escape from the end of all things, and despite the silence from both those Above and Below, Aziraphale felt its deafening absence as a pit in his stomach.

Crowley peered over his black frames, golden eyes catching on the flashes of light from outside. "Nonsense, Angel. It's just weather. Climate change," he suggested. 

"Hmph, if that is the case then I can only suppose we have your side to thank for it."

"You know well enough that the worst atrocities have very little interference from demons at all” Crowley asserted. “It's humanity's God-given skill."

A car with flashing hazard lights burst through the rising waters outside, dousing the storefront windows and sending waves banging against the door. Water trickled through the threshold, ebbing ever towards the soles of Aziraphale's loafers. 

"You don't need to stay here, you know. We could go back to my place," Crowley offered. "It would take a proper flood to reach us up there."

"Oh but the books! I can't possibly leave them here to get ruined," Aziraphale cried out. "No. No, I _have_ to stay here."

Crowley could hear it in Aziraphale's voice, see it in his thinly-maintained stiff upper lip: the panic of _I can't lose it all again_. "Then I will too." He stood up resolutely, straightening the creases in his shirt. If he was going to wait out the storm, he would need a little liquid comfort. With a practiced wave of his hand, he conjured forth Aziraphale's favourite winged mug and filled it with a sickly sweet drink, then procured a snifter of whisky for himself. Crowley approached the Angel and raised the mug for him to take. 

Aziraphale breathed in the gently billowing steam, rolling his tense shoulders down as he blew softly on the beverage and watched the gold flakes dance. He took a tentative sip, slow and precise. "Crowley, my dear, this is utterly _divine_. What is it?"

"Cardamom, pistachio, and saffron cocoa, with a touch of the good old vino rouge. It seemed like the self-indulgent kind of thing you would enjoy," he teased.

He watched as Crowley tried to disguise the soft smile that stretched his thin lips, but the demon had never been that good an actor. Aziraphale could feel warmth blooming in his chest, and though he wished he could blame it on the subtle kick of the alcohol, that sensation was all too familiar. It had lived within him for decades, coiled inside and radiating intensely whenever he was around Crowley. 

Angels are built of love. They feel it resonating in the world, can trace those moments like the thread stretched between destined hearts. Yet for all the love he thrived on, Aziraphale had been ignorant of that burning in his chest for too many wasted years, unable to acknowledge the constant hummingbird-like thrumming inside of him. 

He loved Crowley. He was _in_ love with Crowley. And it was in moments like these when that veneer of mischief and cunning slipped for a breath that Aziraphale foolishly hoped Crowley could feel the same. 

Aziraphale tore his eyes away from the vision before him. He had read once that certain people - touch-starved and lonely - could find temporary relief in a warm drink, and as he cradled the mug in his palms, savouring the feeling of it spreading across the surface of his tender skin, he could understand why. He pulled it closer to his heart, a temporary salve. 

"Thank you, Crowley," he finally replied, delicate voice almost imperceptible amid the pounding rain. 

Thunder cracked through the marbled sky and in a flurry of energy the lights grew brighter before catapulting the bookshop into darkness. Aziraphale jumped with surprise and reflexively bumped into Crowley. He twisted his body around, braced himself against the silken button up that draped over Crowley's lithe chest, and stopped in his tracks just as quickly. 

Crowley peeled off his tinted glasses so he could see in the inky black room, and as his pupils widened and adjusted he became intensely aware of the fractional distance between them. He drew in a sharp breath and felt Aziraphale’s palm follow the movement of his lungs, splayed fingers trembling against the fine threads. 

Aziraphale opened his mouth, shut it, and opened it again while he wracked his brain for anything to say. He felt grateful for the darkness as his cheeks turned a vibrant vermillion, a bevy of embarrassment and desire washing over him. “I- I didn’t spill anything on you, did I?” he asked, fingers exploring the breadth of Crowley’s shirt. 

The demon felt warm beneath him, a burgeoning heat he intimately remembered. It had haunted the recesses of his mind - an un-angelic primal urge he couldn’t voice - ever since Crowley had gripped him so tightly and pressed him against the walls of Tadfield Manor. He raised his face towards Crowley, heart fluttering against the confines of its self-imposed cage, to peer into his shadowed amber eyes. 

Crowley leaned into his touch, closing the final fragment of space between them. “That’s the furthest thing from my mind right now, Angel,” he whispered against Aziraphale’s lips. He let the snifter fall to the carpeted ground with an empty thud, and then his arms were wrapped around Aziraphale, cradling his waist and grasping at his shoulder to pull him in tight as he claimed his mouth.

Aziraphale had waited for far too long to be chaste. With his arm trapped between their forms, he pushed aside the fabric of Crowley’s shirt to reach inside and feel his warm skin, to comb through the dark thatch of hair nestled there. He punctuated each kiss with the scraping of his finely manicured nails, swallowing the sounds of Crowley’s gasps. He felt a wire stretched taut within him, electrified by the friction of their bodies as his cock hardened in his corduroy slacks.

Crowley’s fang-sharp teeth tenderly bit into the pink flesh of Aziraphale’s lips and lathed over the soft marks with his tongue. He had ached for Aziraphale too, the Angel so pliant and ripe for the plucking. His inner snake wanted to curl around Aziraphale, cover his body in a bruising grip and never let him go, wanted to run his nose over the contours of his plump shape and breathe in that lust forever. 

The combined fantasies, day dreams, and wet dreams of millennia raced through Crowley’s mind. There was so much to do, so much of Aziraphale to worship, and never in even the wildest of those dreams did he believe it could happen. _I must be rubbing off on him_ , Crowley mused in his head, but the sudden thought sobered his mind. 

Rubbing off on him. Changing him. The temptations and blessings they had exchanged, the time they had spent together, and suddenly all Crowley’s mind could tell him was that he had done this, he had stripped the Angel of his virtue. It was his fault. But he couldn’t let Aziraphale fall too. He furrowed his brow, selfishly kissed him deeper, harder, to get just one last taste of him, and pulled away, a pit of self-loathing forming in his stomach.

Crowley snapped his fingers to ignite the room’s candles, and in the warm glow he saw Aziraphale’s lips like ripe figs, parted and ready to claim once more. He swallowed down the heady air laced with the Angel’s scent and steadied himself, releasing him from the vice-like hold. “I need--,” he paused, searching Aziraphale’s blown eyes for an answer to a question he didn’t even know before replacing his tinted glasses. “I have to go. I need to... water my plants.” 

He backed away - _one last look_ \- and disappeared in a flash.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale pressed down on Crowley’s shoulders, and guided him to the tufted chaise where he instructed him to sit. “Now you and I are going to discuss this like adults. It shouldn’t be hard, after all, we’ve been such since time immemorial.” He reached up and removed Crowley’s glasses, folded the legs neatly, and placed them on the low side table with his long-abandoned mug. 
> 
> Crowley petulantly melted into the couch, deep in thought. He could disappear again, far away where Aziraphale couldn’t reach him, but then… then he wouldn’t be with Aziraphale. And being apart had become like drowning. Crowley could go centuries without him in the past, but as they grew closer - as he grew comfortable and let down his walls - suddenly a month, a week was too long, and he could feel it crushing down on him, cramped and sucking down air that just couldn’t satisfy.

Back in his spartan apartment, Crowley paced the halls. He had been so caught up in the moment, in the blessed feeling of Aziraphale being so close. And he could _smell it_ … He knew the soft, spiced pear aroma that always trailed around Aziraphale and lingered in the fibres of his own clothes, that permeated every inch of the air around him so that all he could see, taste, smell was tinged with Aziraphale, even long after they had parted ways, but tonight it was different. It had flooded his nostrils, an intoxicating blend of desire, of lust for _him_. 

Crowley sank against the empty wall. It was all his fault. He had tainted Aziraphale with his evil, with his sin. He fell and now he just had to go and drag the Angel down with him. He banged his head against the plasterboard with a groan. Disappointment and anger lodged themselves in his hoarse throat, like a chunk of apple he just couldn’t swallow. 

Despite how much he hated himself in that moment, Crowley couldn’t stop thinking about the kiss. The demon traced his lips, the sweetness of Aziraphale still on him. He could have spent millennia in that embrace, laving every inch of Aziraphale with his mouth, his hands, his tongue. It was a fantasy he had spent countless years building up in his mind, but he hadn’t accounted for the suppleness of Aziraphale or the deft ways he could move and writhe against him.

Crowley needed a distraction. Needed to vent these feelings. Water. Water his plants. That’s what he said he would do. He inched his way back to his feet, sliding up from the tiled floors, and walked to the lavish, empty kitchen. He tapped on the touch-activated faucet, unscrewed his trusty spray bottle, and filled it to the brim. Water his plants, clear his mind. 

Water his plants, clear his mind.

He had barely stepped foot into the foyer when he suddenly felt hands taking hold of his biceps and throwing him through space. Crowley hovered his finger over the trigger of the spray bottle, twisted 180 degrees, and doused his assailant as though his life depended on it - who knew what might happen if he got discorporated now - before taking in his dim surroundings.

Candles, Persian rugs, hardwood floors, books… and an Angel with a halo of wet platinum hair seething before him. Aziraphale’s eyes glowed with a rage Crowley had never seen, and he jabbed his finger at Crowley’s ribs. “What. The. **Fuck**. Crowley,” he spat out. “You left me!”

“You need to stay away from me, Angel. Look what I’ve done to you!”

“Done to me?! You didn’t do **anything** to me. In fact it was quite the opposite, you took from me. You left me.”

Crowley looked at Aziraphale, pleading as salty tears threatened their way into the corners of his eyes. “I’ve ruined you, Aziraphale. An Angel could never love-” _me_ “-something like a Demon. I corrupted you. You need to stay away or it will be too late and Heaven will never let you be at peace,” he begged.

“We’re on our side, remember. Your words. No good or evil, neither sin nor virtue. There’s just this, just us. Our side.” Aziraphale squared up, running a hand through his dripping hair which rapidly dried beneath his touch. “You and me. Heaven be damned, but mark me I will damn you too if you **ever** pull a stunt like that again.”

Aziraphale pressed down on Crowley’s shoulders, and guided him to the tufted chaise where he instructed him to sit. “Now you and I are going to discuss this like adults. It shouldn’t be hard, after all, we’ve been such since time immemorial.” He reached up and removed Crowley’s glasses, folded the legs neatly, and placed them on the low side table with his long-abandoned mug. 

Crowley petulantly melted into the couch, deep in thought. He could disappear again, far away where Aziraphale couldn’t reach him, but then… then he wouldn’t be with Aziraphale. And being apart had become like drowning. Crowley could go centuries without him in the past, but as they grew closer - as he grew comfortable and let down his walls - suddenly a month, a week was too long, and he could feel it crushing down on him, cramped and sucking down air that just couldn’t satisfy. 

Aziraphale deserved to know. Crowley owed him that much. “What if you were right; what if it’s pouring down like this because God is angry at us? Not just for stopping the apocalypse, but because I’m here with you? Because I can’t stay away from you?”

Aziraphale’s expression softened as he stretched out his arm to place a hand onto Crowley’s own, giving it a reassuring squeeze then slotting their fingers together. Despite his infinite wisdom, Aziraphale sometimes forgot the depth with which Crowley felt.

“No force has been able to separate us before, and I will never let anything come between us. _You_ are my world. Surely you must know that by now, must know that I-” Aziraphale paused, gulping down fear and replacing it with incredulity, “know that I love you, most ardently. Love is the most divine of all things, so how could this be wrong?”

Crowley twisted his slender body to turn his attention back to Aziraphale. Somewhere down the line the Angel had shirked Crowley’s nomadic existence and become his home, the one place he felt safe and understood. The one place he could let his guard down. He realised, feeling rather silly at how long it took him, that Aziraphale was the only person he willingly let see his eyes. And if they truly are the windows to the soul, then Aziraphale had of his own accord stripped the jambs and crawled inside, again and again without fear. And he loved him, Aziraphale loved him.

“If we do this,” Crowley pledged, “there is no turning back. We can’t undo this, can’t wipe it from existence, not even with Adam’s help.”

“My dear boy, I believe you’ll find we already _have_ done this.” Aziraphale swayed forward almost imperceptibly, looking upon Crowley with a patient fondness. He was ready to seal his fate and sign all of his past life away, all he needed was for Crowley to meet him halfway.

“Then let’s start over, shall we?” Crowley waited a breath, watching for any sign of hesitation on his Angel’s face, and knowing he would find none leaned in. His left hand crept into the lamb-soft expanse of Aziraphale’s hair to pull him closer, thumb caressing his cheek, and licked his lips in anticipation. 

He was nervous. Their first kiss had been a rush of energy, quick and volatile, but now it felt like being on the cusp of a precipice, on the verge of breaking something ancient and valuable. He placed a timid kiss on Aziraphale’s waiting lips, and slowly caught traces of that same scent, that same perfume that had wafted up to him before and driven his mind to frenzy. Before he could try to wrap his head around it, he blindly accepted and dove in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay I caved in. The smut comes next chapter. This is happening. Have mercy on me when it does because it's been 4 years since I wrote any.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'ma be honest with you, there's no snippet from the fic for this chapter summary because it's just straight up dicks. Or gay up dicks. Semantics. These idiots are in love and damn will they consummate that. This is just 2k of smut and I regret nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.S. I'm [trekraider](https://trekraider.tumblr.com) on tumblr if you wanna come yell at me.

Aziraphale closed his eyes as he deepened the kiss, tongue darting out to feel more of Crowley’s warmth. He hungrily nipped at the flesh of his lips as Crowley had done to him before. He felt Crowley’s insistent form as it crowded him, and he sank until his back fell against the padding of the chaise. Aziraphale pushed up against him in return and possessively draped an arm around his waist so that he couldn’t pull away again.

Aziraphale craned his neck and left a trail of biting kisses along Crowley’s cheek and jawline to just under his ear where the complex sigil of his True Name was etched in ink. He pressed his lips there softly, reverently, then tugged on Crowley’s lobe with his teeth, drawing out a soft hiss.

“Aziraphale,” he warned against his skin with a punishing drag of his hips that forced Aziraphale’s thighs apart, “you’re make it very difficult for me to take this slow.”

“Why on Earth would I want to go slow,” Aziraphale replied indignantly, digging his heels into the fabric for leverage as he chased more of that friction. “I’ve been thinking about this for years.”

“Years?” Crowley asked with a smirk.

“Decades.”

“Centuries.”

“Oh my,” Aziraphale replied, pink skin flushing to a deep berry hue. “You’ll have to tell me your ideas some time. Actually, I read a very interesting book on the subject called the Karma Su-”

“ _-Angel_ ,” he cut him off with a needy whine, and returned his attention to Aziraphale’s mouth. They had spent so many years talking, building up to this, and now Crowley wanted to be done with language as a whole. He wanted primal, innate passion, and the temple of Aziraphale’s body is where he would finally worship.

Aziraphale’s hands slid up Crowley’s body and found their way to his cropped auburn hair, strands frustratingly just-too-short for him to get a firm hold. And yet, under his ministrations they suddenly grew longer, weaving through Aziraphale’s fingers until they stopped just short of Crowley’s shoulders and fell like a veil around their faces. Aziraphale tugged on them experimentally as his tongue delved into Crowley’s mouth, coaxing out a groan from deep inside of his throat.

 _Oh_ , Aziraphale thought with his last few struggling brain cells and pulled on them again, harder that time. 

Crowley’s cock twitched in the too-tight confines of his pants and he was sure Aziraphale could feel it too. He became keenly aware that there were too many layers between them and begrudgingly broke away from Aziraphale’s lips to speak. “You’re the only one who ever truly saw me,” he said in the haze of candlelight. “I want to see you too. All of you.”

It was an abuse of his sizeable powers, for sure, but since he no longer needed to report back to Heaven, Aziraphale figured a selfish miracle or two wouldn’t hurt. For the briefest moment they were falling while clinging to each other, before landing with a thud onto Aziraphale’s unnecessarily plush and mostly untouched bed. Lightning flashed through the cracks between the curtains, but the outside world felt so trivial now, so far away. Another magic-laced second later and Aziraphale had divested them both entirely of their clothes, earning a front row seat to watching their dicks spring up, free from all restrictions. 

Crowley chewed on his bottom lip as he eyed Aziraphale up and down, then fixated on the shaft nestled in a matching thatch of shock-white hair. He loosely wrapped a hand around Aziraphale’s length and methodically flicked his wrist as he kissed his way down the Angel’s body. Crowley’s gaze was locked on his eyes, sucking a bruise into the cluster of gold leaf that cascaded down Aziraphale’s sides, between his thighs, and sloped inwards, carving the way to Crowley’s single-minded goal. 

A forked tongue slid out between his lips and stole a taste of Aziraphale’s slit before wrapping his lips over the head. Crowley could finally understand Aziraphale’s peculiar oral fixation, his delighting in human pleasures, when he felt the weight and girth of Aziraphale’s cock in his mouth and drew him in further. 

Aziraphale’s hands were balled up in fists at his sides, thumbs tucked and squeezed almost to breaking point. He had forsaken most carnal pleasures after he realised no human could ever make him feel the way Crowley did and became quite adept with other means in their wake, but the wet heat of Crowley’s mouth made his solo attempts feel like amateur hour. 

Crowley sucked experimentally, swirling his tongue as he did, and was surprised by the upwards thrust of Aziraphale’s hips, forcing his cock deeper into the moist trove. He choked back surprise, but without the human flaw of a gag reflex, Aziraphale’s cock slipped in without impediment until Crowley’s nose could almost touch his pale skin. Crowley breathed it in, the concentrated scent of lust, the same flavour dancing over his taste buds, and ground his hips down onto the duvet uncontrollably. 

He bobbed his head, feeling the slide coax his throat open wider and stretching his lips, as he moved from the base of his shaft to the leaking head over and over again. Crowley felt an alien ache inside of his body, dull and empty, and with strengthening pangs imagined how it would feel to have Aziraphale’s thick cock buried inside of him. 

A delighted shiver crept up his spine at the thought of it, and while he continued to suck on Aziraphale’s length, his own miraculously-lubricated fingertips snaked behind to delve into his ass. He rocked back on his slender finger and surged forward onto Aziraphale’s cock, all the while rubbing his own against the thick fabric on the bed.

Aziraphale flailed and gripped strongly onto Crowley’s shoulders as he watched. “M-my dear, you have to- _oh_ -stop. You look positively tempting,” he moaned.

Crowley slipped in another finger as he raised himself, a thin trail of saliva connecting them which he happily slurped up. “I want you to fuck me, Aziraphale” he said with a pointed curling of his fingers, and Aziraphale’s head fell onto the pillow with a groan. 

“I can’t do that if you make me come already,” Aziraphale argued.

“You’re thinking in human terms, darling. We can do anything, do _everything_ , as many times as we want.” Crowley’s mouth was unrelenting as he sank back down onto Aziraphale. He wanted to feel Aziraphale’s come inside of him, on his face, and striping every inch of skin the laws of physics would allow. Crowley had a taste of him, and now little else mattered. 

Aziraphale caved in - how could he possibly refute such a compelling argument? - and his hands flew to Crowley's red tresses, curling around the lengthened strands and holding them tight like reins. He blindly chased the feeling, tapping into muscles and movements he hadn't used in decades, squirming with pleasure as his consciousness shrunk down to that one blazing hot point.

Crowley did the calculations in his mind, trying yet failing to match the fullness on his tongue to the even scissoring of his digits. Even with his long fingers, he just couldn't get the angle quite right nor the shattering force that he craved. He wanted the burn, wanted to be split open on Aziraphale's cock, wanted to be held down and fucked so hard it could almost discorporate him. 

Aziraphale’s chest heaved with short, laboured breaths. It was all too much and not enough and his fingers dug into the tanned field of Crowley’s shoulders, thrusting up into his mouth with abandon. He was stretched paperthin, white creeping into the edges of his vision as he struggled to watch the hungered assault on his flesh. His hips bucked and his knees buckled, all the while Crowley swallowed him down up until that last blessed explosion that overtook him, a shout trapped in his throat and his body twitching with the pent up intensity of it. Aziraphale painted Crowley’s mouth with streaks of come.

Crowley crawled up Aziraphale’s body, lapping up some of the dripping fluid around his lips and coating his fingers, the holiness of it tingling on his skin. His eyes were wide and predatory as he reached down to glaze his own cock with it, and Aziraphale stared in wonder. There wasn’t much else he could do with the limp feeling of his own body and the reassuring weight of Crowley atop him, still writhing on his own fingers. 

Crowley languidly stroked with his other hand, blending the sticky white liquid with his own precome. He sucked those fingers into his mouth and pulled them out with a pop. “Want a taste?” he asked, and Aziraphale was certain he had never wanted anything more in his life. 

Aziraphale’s throat went impossibly dry, a desert of his own making and Crowley was the decadent oasis found within. Crowley leaned down and kissed Aziraphale with his obscenely wet tongue, filling every corner of Aziraphale’s mouth with their volatile mixture. It was ambrosia, and Aziraphale felt his cock stirring with renewed vigor as Crowley rutted against him, lube dripping onto his firmly round stomach, and tongue matching it thrust for thrust. 

Aziraphale’s hand made its way to Crowley’s hip then behind, taking his too-skinny ass in his palm and squeezing, and then his fingers were gliding over the rim of Crowley’s stretched hole. He felt the slick spread of Crowley’s fingers diving in and out as he whined for more, and Aziraphale felt a sinful jealousy churning within him. He grabbed Crowley at the wrist, pulled him out, and swiftly burrowed his own stocky fingers inside.

Crowley’s head tipped back at the invasion, the slender column of his neck exposed and jugular vibrating with his fiery blood coursing through. For too many seconds, all he could do was flounder, jerking each time the angle was _just right_ and he could see his beloved stars.

And then Aziraphale was upright, in more ways than one, overcome with a restless energy that he needed to be released right this second. He forced Crowley onto has back, making him bounce against the pillow-top mattress with a gasp. Aziraphale pressed a hand onto Crowley’s stomach, holding him down, so he could sit up on his heels and watch the easy slide of his fingers in and out of Crowley’s ass. 

He dragged his fingers achingly slow, feeling Crowley tense up underneath him, and made a mental note that he should spend a day or two doing just that to him, restrained and keeping him on the brink.

“You’re just so filthy, aren’t you,” he said, voice dipped into a low growl. “How many nights have you laid on those silk sheets, fingering yourself and screaming out my name?” Aziraphale spread Crowley’s legs and hoisted a dark-haired calf over his shoulder.

Crowley matched his gaze with gritted teeth. “That all depends,” he hissed, wallowing in the emptiness he felt once Aziraphale’s fingers left him with a pop, his mind ablaze with _want, need, take_. “How many mortals did you have, fumbling around in your secret clubs with eyes closed and wishing they were me?”

“Too many.”

“I would have come if you called. If I had known.”

“Don’t you worry, darling boy.” Aziraphale took hold of his cock and teasingly pressed it to Crowley’s slick entrance. “You’ll be coming soon enough.”

“Oh G-, Angel, just _fuck me_ already!”

And with that, Aziraphale pushed the thick head of his cock into Crowley, sinking down inch by inch until the tantalising pressure and promise of more clouded his brain and his hips snapped forward. Aziraphale rolled his hips, sheathed in Crowley’s tight heat, then set a steady rhythm.

“Harder,” Crowley begged, digging his heels into the mattress for leverage, and Aziraphale would happily give him everything he asked for. 

He switched to a punishing pace, bed creaking with each fevered thrust that made Crowley’s back arch, his neglected dick throbbing and slapping against his stomach.

Aziraphale leaned forward to claim Crowley’s lips again, sloppy and wet and _his_ , and then Crowley was snaking a hand between them, gripping onto his length and matching Aziraphale thrust for thrust, seeking the heat of his palm and the sweet burn that rocked into him.

Crowley could feel the world falling away around him, his body humming, and he was helpless to fight against the rush overtaking him. He moved his hips frantically, the feeling intensifying as humped with what little control he had left, and his mouth fell open as Aziraphale consumed him, drowning out his moans.

He’d waited so, so long for this and it was _exquisite_. Crowley chased the coiling in his groin, pushing down on the rock hard intrusion in his ass, and the feeling bloomed inside of him, spreading warmth throughout his body, teetering on the edge. With one more merciful slamming of Aziraphale’s hips he tipped over, coming with a shout that spurted over the thick hair on Aziraphale’s chest and dripped back down onto him.

But Aziraphale didn’t stop there, didn’t relent. He used and abused his gaping wet hole, wildly chasing his own release until his movements stuttered and he flooded Crowley’s passage. He collapsed on top of his lover with a tremor, nose buried in the nape of his neck and cock still stuffed inside.

Crowley tilted his head to the side and pressed an ironically delicate kiss to the Angel’s forehead. “I love you too,” he whispered.

Sunlight melted the heavy clouds away, poking again through the draped curtains of Aziraphale’s bedroom, and up above the heavens God reclined in Her seat. "Let there be light.” Ineffable plans and several millennia of grand schemes finally reached their conclusion; Yin with Yang, light with dark, and a union so perfectly _human_. 

“Where did you learn to talk like that, Angel?” Crowley’s voice was somewhere between admiration and shock.

“Oh, you pick a few things up after 6,000 years.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angels don't poop so this is the cleanest rim job in existence thank you very much

Crowley woke slowly to the sounds of twittering birds outside and long-missed sunlight streaming through the curtains, while dust glowed in the air. He blearily rubbed his face against the soft pillow, limbs tightly pretzled around Aziraphale with serpentine efficiency, and a pleasantly dull ache coursing throughout his body. 

He opened his eyes with a series of long blinks to see his Angel settled against the headboard, a leatherbound book in his palms and glasses perched on the very tip of his curved nose.  _ I could almost kiss him _ , Crowley thought, and then he remembered there was no longer anything stopping him from doing so. Crowley raised himself onto his elbows with a lopsided grin, then leaned over and pecked his cheek. “G’morning,” he hummed sleepily.

Aziraphale folded the book closed and rested it in his lap. “Good morning, dear,” he answered, rolling over in the tartan patterned sheets to come face-to-face with his lover. He caught Crowley’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilted his head, and captured his lips in a kiss that would have been chaste had it not lasted so long. “Did you sleep well?”

Crowley’s hair was even messier than usual, waving out in a hundred directions and softening his roguish looks to something endearingly more innocent. Bedhead on Crowley looked like a conscious effort and stylish no matter what. Though Aziraphale could hardly judge when his own platinum curls were a constant foe to be tamed. 

“Mm, like a hellpup in lava. How long’ve you been up?” 

“Oh just a little while. I thought I might squeeze in a spot of reading before I opened up the shop today.”

Crowley greedily lay on top of Aziraphale, drawing circles in his fine chest hair while he playfully bobbed his feet up and down under the blanket. “Now why on earth would you want to do a thing like that?” he asked, feigning disappointment. “You could just stay here with me and tell me all about that book you were  _ so  _ interested in last night.”

“You’re insatiable,” Aziraphale chuckled, and brushed a cluster of the long auburn strands behind Crowley’s ear.

“What can I say,” Crowley answered with a dramatic raise of his brow, “I was made this way.”

“Demon,” he said fondly. With his erratic store hours and Crowley’s skill as a master tempter, who could blame Aziraphale for relenting to his charms? He paused for a moment to think it over. “Although, I was rather hoping- I mean, I had read about… Well, you know how much I enjoy food?”

“... Yes,” Crowley replied, confusion ebbing its way across his face.

“I’ve heard that some humans, they, um- some humans find it pleasurable to be eaten  _ out _ as it were, and I was curious about how that might possibly feel. To be tasted.”

And then Crowley’s eyes want feral, dark and wanting. He raised himself to a crouch, straddling Aziraphale’s waist as if ready to pounce. “You would ask me to defile an angel?” He asked, his voice impossibly low to the point of snarling.

“As if to say you haven’t done so already?”

“Not like this,” he said as his hands trailed down Aziraphale’s sides. His fingertips dug into the fleshy hips below him, his mind running rampant. “You’d let me… try you? Devour you?”

Aziraphale squirmed under him, interest already growing between his thighs. “Crowley, I freely give all of myself to you.”

It was a gift Crowley’s mind almost couldn’t handle, the implications of it and the utter trust behind it. “I’ll make it good for you,” Crowley promised as the duvet fell to the floor behind him. 

He leaned down to soundly kiss Aziraphale, nipping at his rosey bottom lip, and then his mouth trailed further south. On Aziraphale’s neck, he pursed his lips and sucked a small bruise into the pale column; on Aziraphale’s chest, his tongue swirled around the buds of his nipples and Crowley felt them perk with each swipe. He savoured each moan, each stuttered  _ Crowley _ that fell under Aziraphale’s breath. 

Methodically and torturously slow, he made his way lower, worshipping Aziraphale’s increasingly quivering form, laving at the soft skin that gave so generously under his movements. “You’re so beautiful,” Crowley whispered against the swell of his stomach.

“You don’t need to pander to my ego, dear,” Aziraphale gasped. “I know I’m not-… Gabriel says I’m too soft.”

Crowley looked up with an unbridled ferocity, and with sharpened teeth he spoke. “And what the Heaven is so bad about being soft? I love every ounce, every dimple, every roll of you,” he punctuated his point with a smattering of possessive kisses to Aziraphale’s form. “I would rip Gabriel to shreds,  fricassée  the pieces, and make a 7-course meal to feed to you if he weren’t so disgusting. You are beautiful not because I say so, Aziraphale, but because it is an irrefutable fact.”

Crowley continued further down and hooked his fingers into the waistband of Aziraphale’s briefs. “Can I show you, Angel?” He said with a growing need. “Can I show you how  _ delicious  _ you are?”

“Y-yes, my love.” Aziraphale nodded with a groan, and his legs slid open as Crowley removed his underwear, flinging it to the other side of the bedroom as it set his cock free. 

“Turn over,” Crowley ordered, and Aziraphale was ever so obedient and flipped over to lie on his stomach. Crowley gripped him by the hips, hoisting them up so that Aziraphale’s weight rested on his knees and his back arched towards the mattress. 

Crowley ran his palms up Aziraphale’s shoulder blades, then down to the small of his back, and over the jut of his behind. He pressed a kiss to the base of Aziraphale’s spine, his warm and unsteady breaths brushing against the angel’s skin. Then his fingers dug into the pale expanse of Aziraphale’s ass, spreading the cheeks to reveal the most intimate, unseen part of him.

He licked his lips as though his mouth were a desert and Aziraphale’s hole was the decadent oasis nestled within, and a burgeoning thirst swept through his body. With his tongue wide and flat he dove in, licking a broad stroke beginning from his taint and with a lustful sigh breathed in the concentrated scent of his desire. Crowley moaned at the taste, the smell, the feeling of Aziraphale beneath him.

“C-Crowley,” Aziraphale all but wheezed as he rocked into the heat of Crowley’s mouth, and his tongue was all too happy to oblige.

It snaked out, the muscled tip hardening to drag a circle around the rim of his hole with a dull promise for more. He nudged it inside, lips puckering around the edges to suck, as he wrapped a hand around Aziraphale’s growing erection. 

The angel’s eyes were screwed shut, his body stuttering as he was split between the searching pleasure within him and the grip around him. His hips jerked and rolled, pushing back against Crowley, the touches maddeningly just too soft and not enough. “Please,” he begged. “Crowley, darling, I need- I need more.”

With his other hand, Crowley dragged his fingers up Aziraphale’s thigh, moved up to palm at his heavy balls, and then crept closer to where he knew Aziraphale wanted them. “Use your words,” he commanded and lapped up the salty sweat forming on him, grazing the skin with his sharp teeth as he hummed and rubbed himself against the mattress cover. “You’re absolutely mouthwatering, Angel. Tell me what you want.”

Aziraphale keened, high and tight in the back of his throat. “I want you… I want to feel you inside of me, opening me, using me. You made it look so good,” and at the memory he thrust into the waiting fist that tightened unconsciously around him, giving him a glimpse of the friction he craved. Aziraphale lost himself in the feeling for a moment, abusing Crowley for his own pleasure, precome leaking from his slit and easing the slide.

Crowley’s finger slipped in alongside his tongue, sinking in knuckle by knuckle and it stole the breath out of Aziraphale’s lungs. “ _ O- Oh, Crowley _ ,” Aziraphale moaned as another saliva-slick finger entwined with the first, filling him wider and deeper. And then it happened. They pressed against that thing inside him, that bundle of pure want and electric fire, and Aziraphale’s knees almost gave out from under him. 

Time passed, and whether it was quick or slow was wholly irrelevant. All that mattered was this room, this moment between them, this light burning brighter and brighter, searing the insides of Aziraphale’s lids. His mind turned to static, edging ever closer as his release coiled, but eventually through the white noise he heard the litany behind him, Crowley’s reverent cries as he delved and delighted and devoured every millimetre, praise dripping from his wet, wet tongue. 

“Angel,” Crowley sighed, a curse and a veneration most holy, and he craved more. He had tasted the most divine fruit, swallowed it whole and it turned him unhinged. He twisted, contorted, and found his way under Aziraphale, his prize suspended above him. “Come for me,” he pleaded. “Come on me, mark me, make me yours.”

Aziraphale’s body dipped, teetering on the edge, the head of his cock brushing against Crowley’s moist lips, and Crowley was hungry for it. With his long tongue, he licked the underside of Aziraphale’s cock, kissing the head in all the filthiest ways he knew possible, and pumped his fist along the length. He craned his neck and dragged his tongue over Aziraphale’s perineum, swirled it around his scissoring fingers. It was a delicacy to him, his new favourite indulgence, and he would battle the forces of heaven and hell all over again just for that simple taste. 

Aziraphale rutted against him, finally showering him with his release, and a dam broke within himself. It didn’t take much effort at all; he had almost exploded at the first taste. He wrapped the come-slick hand around his own member and selfishly drank up the last remaining drops that still lingered on Aziraphale’s cock. Within several jerks of his wrist, Crowley was panting, writhing, and then spurting between his fingers with a groan. 

Aziraphale rolled off of him, their bodies limp and useless, and Crowley turned to rest his head on top of Aziraphale’s stomach. Pressing a kiss to the mound of flesh, Crowley gazed up at him. “You truly are the most gorgeous being in all creation, Angel,” he said.


End file.
